


Let's be Nothing. I heard it Lasts Forever

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [24]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Swearing, aggressive affection, erotic eating if you turn your head and squint, idiots who can't take compliments, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, or communicate in general, stealth angst, stealth romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: In which a dream almost comes true.
In which two tiny bbys say really sappy things to each other that they mean more than they want to.
In which no one manages to do anything other than confuse everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> I feel like I don't explain the titles ever. That's probably because I don't think I have ever actually explained the titles. Believe it or not, they all have meaning. Usually to do with the particular fic they are the title of. However, this one is from one of those shitty motivational posters. My brother has had a poster above his door with 'nothing lasts forever. so let's be nothing together' on it for the last six years. I changed it around a bit obviously, because the original wording is awkward as fuck, but there you go. I think it fits this fic pretty well.
> 
> Getting meta again (do I ever NOT get meta?) it's really, really weird writing about pre-determined matches in a kayfabe environment. Especially when the wrestlers in question have to discuss the matches. I mean, it's interesting, trying to tie together the little threads of exposition and dancing around that little invisible line between reality and kayfabe. At the same time, I'm not sure how polished my technique is, so don't expect too much just yet. I will get better eventually ^.^
> 
> Anyway, I can't think of any extra warnings for this fic. It's pretty tame by my standards and sorta floofy, in that special baby!Steenerico way, that is equal parts charming and horrifyingly disturbing. Be prepared for anticlimactic non-romance!

Sami perks up at the sound of footsteps. Cracking one eye open, he turns, smiling brightly before he even opens his mouth.

“Hey! It’s beautiful out! Come sit with me?”

Kevin freezes on his way back to his room, takeout bag in hand. He turns slightly, staring hard at Sami, his eyes wary.

Sami falters in confusion, but Kevin doesn’t explain himself. He continues to stand there, in the middle of the court yard, looking skittish and suspicious.

Sami lowers his out stretched hand-

(why did he even reach out on instinct like that in the first place?)

-and frowns, worry clouding his mind and making his joy at seeing Kevin waver.

(what have I done?)

(oh god, are we fighting again?)

(can’t deal with with that)

(i’m sorry for whatever i did. just come _over_ here and-)

“You’re going to catch a cold, laying on the fucking ground like that.”

Sami relaxes a bit at the admonishment, dropping his hand back to his side and feeling his heart beat steady. He shrugs, noting the way Kevin is still glancing around suspiciously.

“Worth it. The sun is so lovely this time of year, don’t you agree?” Sami says with a laugh, beaming at Kevin, his heart singing loudly with something like euphoria.

Kevin looks at him, through him, almost and the ecstasy flowing through Sami gives way to confused discomfort as the moment turns stilted and awkward. Sami blinks, uncomprehendingly as Kevin cocks his head, the wariness in his eyes bleeding over into something like violence.

Whatever it is, it makes Sami feel like he’s being **hunted**.

“Yeah. The sun is-” Kevin draws in a sharp breath and looks away abruptly, swinging the takeout bag against his legs, the thin plastic making muted shuffling noises as it collides with his pant leg. “-it’s something else, alright.”

Before the tense silence can crush all the air out of his lungs, Sami sits up and scoots forward, dangling his legs off the side of the dilapidated planter he’d plopped himself down in. Bouncing his heels off of the crumbling, loosely stacked bricks, Sami reaches out toward Kevin, though this time he does it with intent.

“Mine?” Sami asks, making grabby hands for the bag dangling from Kevin’s fingers.

Kevin rears back a bit then blinks down at the sack in his hands like he had forgotten that he was carrying it. Glancing up at Sami briefly, Kevin returns his attention to the bag, a slightly put out look on his face.

“Sort of, you greedy, impatient infant.” Kevin strolls forward, in what Sami assumes is a leisurely pace designed to irritate him. However, Sami’s irritation is softened by the flood of fondness that overrides all his other senses, as Kevin moves in his direction.

(good)

(we’re _not_ fighting)

(he’s not mad at **all** )

(I **_hate_ ** fighting with **_him_** )

Kevin stops right in front of him and Sami groans in happiness as Kevin opens the bag, the heady smell of grease and cardiac arrest permeating the air. Beaming at Kevin he clasps his fingers around the burger Kevin hands him, mumbling a thank you through what he’s already stuffed in his mouth.

Kevin makes a face, even as he crams a french fry in his mouth. “You’re going to choke to death like the _moron_ you are. Don’t you dare think that I'm gonna **save** your stupid ass, either, cause I won't.”

Sami does almost choke to death at that, giggling around the food and poking Kevin with his foot.

“You would so. We have a match in two weeks.”

Kevin freezes again, this time his face going completely blank for a heartbeat. Sami watches, puzzled, as a myriad of emotions cascade across Kevin’s face. Desperation and fear, something like self loathing, even excitement and anticipation. It’s over before Sami can really appreciate the moment and Kevin shifts, like he’s shaking himself out a of a dream.

“I can fight anyone at any time, Sami. I don’t need you to have a good match.” Kevin mumbles around a mouth full of chili, the little plastic spoon in his hands creaking in protest as he stabs at the container in an overly aggressive manner.

Sami sighs loudly, more tired of this conversation than he cares to admit.

(can’t he _just_ -)

-no, he **can't** -

“That may be true, but I think me and you bring out the best and the worst in each other. Makes our matches all the more exiting, don’t you think?” Sami says, offering Kevin a french fry.

Kevin watches Sami for a moment, dark eyes full of wordless, unfathomable emotions that Sami has a hard time looking at. He doesn’t look away though, and eventually Kevin reaches out and takes the fry, chewing it slowly and swallowing before he speaks, dropping his eyes to the ground.

“That’s one way to put it. You sure you want to do this though? You didn’t do too well, last time.”

Sami scrunches his face up, elbowing Kevin lightly in the ribs and making a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat.

“Maybe don’t punch me directly in the eye this time?” Sami asks, stealing Kevin spoon and a bite of chili.

Kevin snatches his spoon back and a pickle with it, snapping his teeth at Sami’s fingers as he chases the food. Rolling his eyes at Sami’s recoil and indignant squawk, Kevin pops the pickle in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“That was your own damn fault. That suplex hurt like a bitch. Punching you was a reflex. Besides,” Kevin crunches his way through another pickle, either ignoring or not noticing Sami stealing his spoon again. “You wouldn’t want me to hold back, would you?”

Sami sighs deeply, muttering around the too-hot chili in his mouth. “Of course not. At the same time, I _would_ like to walk away from the fight and have another go at you at some point. I **like** our matches together. The more we can have in the future the _**better**_.”

Kevin’s hand pauses in it’s reach for his spoon, so Sami bypasses his outstretched hand and drops the utensil back in the chili cup. Kevin watches the motion, a strangely blank look in his eyes. Sami listens to the stilted silence drag on, feeling his nerves rack up as the seconds tick by. Finally, Kevin shakes himself out of it with an aggressive shake of his head, like he’s shooing an irksome fly.

“Well, at least when I’m kicking your ass, you don’t get all pissy about it like everyone else does.” Kevin eyes him sideways and Sami’s feels a pull of irritation at being denied full eye contact, “Although, you _can_ be a little fucking bitch about me hurting you.”

Sami huffs, snatching a tomato slice off Kevin’s burger, sticking his tongue out defiantly at the glare that earns him.

“Shut up Kevin. I do not _even_ complain. I let you throw me through whatever and punch me in the eye with little complaint except the request that you not do that quite as often or warn me before hand. My whole body goes black and blue sometime because of you, so I would like a little credit for putting up with you being excessive in your violence toward me for the sake of our - ** _incredible_** \- matches.”

Sami not sure what exactly it is about what he just said, but for a moment he is sure that Kevin is either going to pass out or storm away in a fit of-  _something_. Sami’s not quite sure what to name the violent maelstrom of the **_everything_ ** rapidly flicking across Kevin’s face.

Whatever it is, Sami doesn’t like it.

Sami stretches his legs out, hooking them around the back of Kevin’s knees and pulling, almost throwing the other man off balance as he draws him close. Kevin stumbles forward, reaching out to steady himself, putting one hand, palm down on the bricks along Sami's hip. Sami flinches a bit as the heat from Kevin fingers seeps into the side of his thigh, a short line of warmth that makes Sami feel light headed.

“Kevin?” Sami asks, clearing his throat against the wavering fragility in his voice.

Kevin snaps his head back and forth restlessly, like the half rabid beast he pretends to be sometimes. Glancing at Sami before quickly looking away, he takes a long drink from Sami’s water bottle before leaning in. Kevin puts the bottle down and _licks_ a french fry up into his mouth, squinting at Sami the whole time, seemingly oblivious to the way their bodies are squished together.

(um)

-the _fuck_ is **this** shit-

(what)

-should probably run. bad **_bad_ ** idea-

(...?)

“That’s kinda the point of a wrestling match Sami. Violently get out your aggression towards someone. If you have a problem with that-”

-can he _not_ growl about **violence** an **_aggression_ ** at this very moment please?-

(to be fair, he has a point I suppose...)

Sami leans back a bit so he can actually look at Kevin in the small space between them. Fighting down the weird, uncomfortably warm sensation flooding him and the heat rising up his face, Sami clears his throat and hopes his voice won’t crack.

“I have zero issue with that. You deserve to get suplexed to hell for the bullshit you pull sometimes. But can’t this just be a friendly little match? I don’t actually want to **_fight_ ** with you right now. In fact I though we weren't **_fighting_ ** at all. _Please_ tell me we aren’t fighting. I **hate** fighting with **_you_**.”

Kevin sighs, like he is the most burdened person on the planet and Sami fights down the urge to laugh at the melodrama of that particular thought.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. Friendly violence. What the fuck.”

Sami clicks his tongue in irritation. Shifting, he opens his mouth to snap at Kevin, but during his shift he realizes belatedly that he still has his ankles locked around Kevin’s knees. Flushing, he untangles his legs and lets them rest against the bricks again, dropping his gaze from Kevin’s, as the other man looks down at the movement.

“It’s not- well, I mean it kind of **is**. I have friendly spars with Beef all the time-”

-should maybe _not_ talk about Beef-

-especially **Beef** and _**sparring**_ -

-or Beef at _all_ -

-or **sparring** at all, for that matter-

And man, if that wasn’t the wrong thing to say. Kevin screws his face up in something like a murderous rage-

(how is it that Kevin can go from friendly conversation to homicide in only a few seconds?)

-and Sami changes tracks as quickly as he can, shoving a french fry in Kevin’s mouth to stave off any furious threats of grievous harm to Beef’s person.

“-and I just figure that you would be capable of setting aside your weird need to kill everyone you fight for a minute. I mean if Beef can do it, you can too, I would hope.”

-probably a _bad idea_ to encourage competition between the two of them-

(it’s not like I can make them **not** hate each other. maybe they can channel their issues into something more **_positive_** )

-not fucking likely-

“Besides,” Sami runs over Kevin as he opens his mouth, looking outright indignant. “I was hoping if we’re good enough- which we are- we’ll get booked together as often as possible. And I _like_ getting booked with **you** so...”

Sami trails off as Kevin blinks at him, the anger bleeding away, as something like complete blind-sidedness creeps onto his face.

“It’s-” Kevin clears his throat, looking away as his voice cracks roughly, “Well, at least if I’m wrestling **_you_** , I know you won’t fuck it up like a **complete** dumb ass.”

Call him easy to please, but Sami beams at that. That’s about as close to a complement as Kevin ever gets and it makes Sami unbelievably satisfied to know that Kevin trusts him.

Because that’s what that means.

‘You won’t fuck it up.’

It means ‘I trust you not to blow this for us.’

‘I trust you to catch me.’

‘I trust you to match me blow for blow and make it worth my time.’

Sami beams, bumping his head against Kevin’s gently and chuckling.

“Man, just going crazy with the compliments there, Kevin. You’re making me bush, you flatterer you. Better stop heaping on the praise, before I get the thought in my head that I’m good or something crazy like that.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering you fucking are, so go ahead and be my guest. Get an ego all you want.”

Sami chokes, gasping into his french fries and turning his head away, feeling a flush creep up his face as his strains to breath. Kevin reaches out and slams a palm roughly into Sami’s back with an exasperated huff.

Sami coughs harshly, side-eyeing Kevin as he struggles to stops choking up a lung. Kevin just raises an eyebrow and slaps Sami’s back a few more times, each motion less violent than the last until Kevin is basically just patting him lightly.

Wiping his mouth, Sami clears his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason.

(not like it matters)

(Kevin’s seen me freak out over stupider things)

-he thinks we're _amazing_ -

(he didn’t **say** that)

-it's _**Kevin**_. he might as well have. he never praises anyone-

(it’s _not_ a big deal)

- **liar** -

( ** _shut up_** )

“Thank you.” Sami mumbles, leaning in to the warm palm rubbing circles at his lower back. Kevin's fingers flex against his skin and Sami waits for him to jerk his hand back.

Kevin stills for a moment and then inhales sharply.

Sami offers Kevin another french fry. Kevin hesitates then opens his mouth, curling thick fingers in the muscles of Sami’s back. Sami slips the food past Kevin’s lips, recoiling slightly when Kevin clamps his jaws shut, almost snapping Sami’s fingers up.

“Okay, okay, easy. I like my digits in one piece, thank you very much.” Sami says with a breathless chuckle, wincing as Kevin finally eases his grip on his back.

Kevin doesn’t take his hand away though. He just goes back to rubbing little circles into the small of Sami’s back.

(no complaints here)

- ** _bad idea_** -

(nope)

Kevin makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he chews, his fingers pinpoints of warmth against Sami’s back. “I brought it. It’s mine. You don’t like it, you can go get your own.”

Sami rolls his eyes, reaching out and stealing Kevin’s spoon again.

“If you didn’t want to share, you shouldn’t have come over here when I called. You got my favorite anyway, so it’s not like you didn’t buy it for me too, you liar.”

Kevin sniffs roughly, looking away, “Yeah, well at least you have something to celebrate. You won your match.”

Sami stiffens, unsure what he is supposed to do, exactly, to comfort Kevin in this moment. He contemplates offering him another fry, but discards the idea for something he hopes will be a little healthier.

(and maybe better received?)

-thin ice-

(maybe he won't mind. he’s been touchy-feelie today)

-gonna get slapped away-

(worth a shot anyway)

Sami reaches out and curls his fingers in the front of Kevin’s shirt, pulling slightly as he leans back into the hand still on his back.

“I’m so fucking jealous. That match was amazing. I bet Lynn was a trip to fight, yeah?”

Kevin gives Sami a sideways look, squinting at him suspiciously. Sami beams at him in response.

-really?-

(it’s not like it is a lie. he always has to be so _negative_.)

“He was alright." Kevin concedes, snapping his head back and forth and clenching his hand into a fist against Sami’s back. “Bit slow for my taste, but you know. Can't have everything you want in an opponent.”

Kevin gives Sami another weird, sideways look and Sami meets him with another smile, despite the oddly dark look in Kevin’s eyes.

“Well, you’ve fought Christopher Daniels and Jerry Lynn recently. Guess I have a lot to live up to in our match huh?”

Kevin freezes for a moment, looking blankly at the ground. He stays that way for a heartbeat, before his whole body relaxes with a violent exhale, sagging against Sami and leaning most of his weight against him until they both almost go crashing into the planter.

“No,” Kevin rasps, voice like sandpaper and he clears his throat, looking at Sami with dark eyes, “No, you fucking **don’t**.”

**Author's Note:**

> More terribly melodramatic ending one-liners. Hopefully they are tolerable, otherwise I think me and mithen are the only ones who like them :3
> 
> These two numb nuts are the worst I swear. Neither of them are ever going to get laid in this series if they don't figure out how to communicate with human beings, much less each other. I would feel sorry for them, but it is a problem that is entirely their own fault and one that is so easily fixable. Well, I guess that's not fair. It's not easily fixable. It just seems like working through their painfully horrendous communication issues would be easier than doing this cringy, awkward mating dance thing. 
> 
> Whatever. They're gonna do what they are gonna do. I gave up trying to steer them toward grown up-ing around the Masks we wear Forever, so fuck it. On the subject of the Masks we wear Forever, Left At The Crossroads is definitely getting a sequel. Which is entirely phoenixjustices' fault ^.^
> 
> I dunno how soon I'll get it done, as I barely have enough time to do these, but I have a horrible feeling that it's going to turn into a totally separate series.
> 
> *grumpy grumbling*
> 
> Ah well, I could use the floof, I guess. So, don't expect it soon, but there is hilariously incompetent flirting and overly aggressive make-out sessions in the future. Probably. Maybe. In another series, but still.


End file.
